


Favourite Things

by talkingtothesky



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Clothed Erections, Clothed Sex, Coming In Pants, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 18:23:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10622538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: Sam and Gene have no problems mixing business with pleasure.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/gifts).



Gene’s absolute favourite place to pin Sam wasn't against the wall in Lost and Found, it was the filing cabinet in his office.

Said piece of furniture held some obvious significance for their relationship. But more than that, it made a very satisfying sound as Sam crashed into it. Any protests about procedure died on his lips when his back hit the drawer handles, when Gene stole his words with a kiss.

Sam wrapped one arm around Gene’s shoulders and returned the clumsy snog with vigorous approval. As Gene sank into the heat of his mouth, Sam’s other hand worked to free the back of Gene’s pink shirt from his trousers. Sam had told him once that he liked Gene in the pink almost as much as the green one - Gene had favourite places, Sam had favourite shirts.

Sam never stopped fidgeting, even while Gene was giving him what he wanted. They stopped kissing for a brief pause as Gene made quick work of Sam’s shirt buttons, and when he glanced down he saw that Sam had kicked off his boots and was trying to hook his ankles around Gene’s calves.

“Like that, is it?” Gene muttered breathlessly, feeling pretty smug.

Distracted, Sam pushed down on Gene’s shoulders and lifted one foot off the ground, still trying to shimmy up him like a tree. “Yeah, just -” He managed to park his arse partly on one of those drawer handles, but that perch wasn’t going to last more than a few seconds. Inwardly praying his back would hold out, Gene got his hands underneath Sam’s thighs and lifted him, hoisting him upwards. The filing cabinet protested, some of the sports trophies clattered to the floor, but Sam got his legs nice and tight around Gene’s hips, so that was the important part.

Gene’s fingers squeezed at the inner seams of Sam’s jeans. He couldn’t touch as much as he wanted to now, mainly occupied with supporting Sam’s weight. He wobbled a little, concerned that Sam was slipping. Sam snorted, face buried in Gene’s collar. Then the little shit got the idea that he wanted to use his teeth to gently nip at Gene’s throat, testing his concentration.

He’d had plenty of that already. Gene shoved him into the filing cabinet hard enough that the windows rattled, the thin partition wall trembling. Sam gave a yelp but didn’t loosen his grip. It was after hours, there was nobody out there in the rest of the station, otherwise they wouldn’t be doing this.

"Your Gary Cooper's gonna fall down," Sam warned, happily.

Gene attempted a shrug. It was only a sodding movie poster. "Let him. He's got nothing on you anyhow."

“Awww,” Sam replied, sounding half sarcastic and half genuinely flattered. He followed it up with a lengthy run of kisses. Gene could feel him getting hard against his stomach, and his own cock started to fill to match it.

He couldn’t do much about getting their trousers open in this position, so dry humping it was going to be. Gene looked down at the enticing bulge in Sam’s jeans, and pushed his own dick up underneath it, against Sam’s arse. The slow friction through layers of underwear made him gasp, something in his gut tightening, sweat trickling down his back from the exertion of holding Sam in place.

Sam was sweating too, his fists clenched in Gene’s shirt. He made an effort to increase the friction, hips shifting, and Gene tightened his grip around Sam’s thighs even more, determined not to let him slide.

“Glad m’not dreaming this,” Sam said softly, almost to himself.

“So am I.” Gene thrust up against him, his belt getting in the way.

“I’m sure I would’ve left out the…” a hitch in his breath “…sharp corners on this thing.”

Gene’s patience and strength was wearing thin. “Do you _ever_ -” another rough attempt to fuck him, untwisting the belt, picking up the pace, “stop yapping?”

“Know me better’n that, Gene.”

Gene always loved it when Sam’s speech tended to deteriorate. He took great personal pride in being able to reduce him from the precise, pretentious, pernickety DI Tyler to the Sam who slurred his words and whispered Gene’s name like it was something precious.

The clever Sam who got his hand down the back of Gene’s slacks and pressed the tip of his finger over Gene’s hole. The effect was immediate. Gene shuddered, all down his spine, and came in his pants.

He ended up with his forehead pressed to Sam’s chest. His knees felt like jelly, his arms faintly trembling. Sam gradually slid to the floor and stood on his own two feet, grinning all over his stupid face.

Gene made a satisfied, exhausted sound, and nuzzled into the hollow of Sam’s throat, nose scraping on the chain of his St. Christopher necklace.

Sam rubbed Gene’s back and kissed the top of his head. “That was fun.” He murmured, thickly. “Fancy giving me a piggy back ‘ome?”

“Get lost,” Gene groaned, but he joined in a moment later when Sam started to giggle.

Gene turned to his right and collapsed on the red sofa next to the cabinet, legs spread wide. He let Sam handle the clean up. Ever the boy scout, Sam kept a change of clothes for both of them in Gene’s desk for exactly this type of occasion. And there had been several of those.

When Sam changed his vest, Gene quickly checked his back. There were no scrapes or bruises, at least not yet. He would have Sam take a bath when they got back to the house, making sure he wouldn’t be sore and moving stiffly tomorrow.

Right before their next team briefing, Sam was going to raise his eyebrows, take a sip of coffee and glance meaningfully in the direction of the filing cabinet, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Gene would sit with his legs crossed behind his desk, refuse to openly acknowledge Sam’s behaviour, and think about what a lucky bastard he was.


End file.
